


He Hates Me

by idmakeitbehave



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Embarrassment, F/M, First Impressions, First Meetings, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idmakeitbehave/pseuds/idmakeitbehave
Summary: You were doomed from the start. Leave it to you to develop a sickeningly serious crush on the one man who couldn't stand to be in the same room as you. He hated you, you just knew it- or so you thought.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 320





	He Hates Me

You were doomed from the start.

You had thought you had been fairly obvious. You definitely made no serious attempts to hide it- your crush on Spencer had started nearly the moment you walked into the bullpen for the first time.

In hindsight though, this was where it all started to go wrong. You had been rushing through, running late for your first meeting with Hotch. Late on your first day- not a great look.

In your haste, you kept your eyes trained on the files in your hand as you speed-walked, petrified that you were going to forget something important. Your foot had connected with something in your path, sending both you and your papers flying across the bullpen. You had landed awkwardly on your elbow, earning a rather large scrape up your arm as you desperately tried to gather the files.

When you stood up to look back, you realized exactly what you had tripped over- someone’s feet. Spencer’s feet to be exact. He had been stretched out in his desk chair, his long legs protruding into the aisle as he flipped rapidly through a book. He hadn’t seen you and you hadn’t seen him. Spencer was left beet red, stumbling over his words as he hastily apologized before fleeing to the conference room. You had stared at his receding figure for a brief moment, the blush on your face matching his, before snapping out of it and continuing your rush to Hotch’s office.

And that was it. You were embarrassed, mortified even, but after that first day you couldn’t stop thinking about him- the way his hair was always in his eyes, the way his glasses always seemed to slide down his nose, even the way his hand ran down the page of a book as he read.

He was adorable, endearingly so, but every exchange after that seemed to carry over some of the awkwardness of that first interaction. You tried desperately to move past it, but if you weren’t doing something horribly embarrassing, he seemed to always be dodging you.

The two of you were barely ever in the same room together without another member of the team present. If he happened to walk into a room when it was just you in there, he would promptly spin on his heels and walk in the other direction. Sometimes he would make a pathetic excuse, saying he forgot something or he needed to find someone, and other times he would just leave without a word. Your eyebrows never failed to furrow at that, your face a look of confusion as you wondered exactly what it was that you had done to make him hate you.

Time did anything but make it better.

On one of your first cases with the team you were all stuck in the local precinct late at night, hitting a dead end. The unsub had left a cipher that had proven to be near impossible to crack, despite everyone’s best efforts. You and Spencer seemed to reach a conclusion at almost the same time, and you jumped up, rushing to explain it. You had been so excited to finally have something to contribute that you spoke rapidly, misspeaking in the process and stumbling over some long word or another. Spencer corrected you instantly, rolling into a tangent about exactly what the cipher meant.

The team was off and running, thrilled to have a lead, but you were left with your face burning red and tears stinging your eyes that you desperately blinked away. You had looked like a fucking idiot in front of the entire team- in front of Spencer. Why were you here if you couldn’t even do one thing right? More to the point- why were you even here if Spencer could do it a million times better than you could?

You tried to move past it, you really did. Eventually you found your footing in the team, despite the blow to your self-esteem. Everyone really was lovely, like a little family. They all accepted you with open arms, making sure that you felt welcome and included. Well, everyone except Spencer. You were cordial to one another, but that was as far as it went, your crush tempered by the embarrassment that you felt throughout every goddamn interaction.

Your point was further proven when you turned towards the sugar in the breakroom one morning, grabbing it without looking. Your hand brushed something warm and there was a startled noise beside you. You spun around to see Spencer staring at you, eyes wide. You only registered the fact that your hand was still on his when you saw the blush creeping up his face. You withdrew your hand quickly, murmuring an apology. By the time you turned back towards Spencer, he was gone.

“Come on, man. That’s not true.” Derek’s voice drifted through the bullpen after you had made your way back to your desk. You twisted around, the nosy part of you wanting to know who he was talking to.

You could just barely make out Spencer beside him, his hands fluttering in the air as he spoke. “Yes, yes it is.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“No, I- I can’t. I can’t do anything-”

You sighed, spinning back in your chair as he trailed off. He hated you. You knew it. Why did he hate you?

Weeks later, you were working with Spencer on a geographical profile. Hotch had paired you together- he was either blissfully unaware of the uncomfortable atmosphere between the two of you or he was a cruel, cruel man who knew exactly what he was doing. You tended to lean towards the latter.

You kept sparing glances at Spencer, lost in thought as you admired his sharp jawline, the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Every time he would look up, you would look away abruptly, eyes back on the map.

Despite all of the awkwardness, you two worked well together. Once you could get past the personal embarrassment, you could move onto the actual tasks at hand and your thoughts generally coincided. This was at least a small blessing.

You were almost done with the geo-profile, marking down the last of the coordinates Garcia had sent you. When you turned back to Spencer, you noticed a smudge of ink on his cheek, a dark blue line. Without thinking, you reached towards him, wiping it away with your thumb. He pulled away from you instantly, almost falling out of his chair as his eyes widened at the contact. You dropped your hand back on the table, sputtering out yet another apology.

Silence enveloped the room as neither of you spoke another word. The moment you finished the profile, Spencer stood up, bolting out of the room. You groaned inwardly. Fuck. What was it about this man? Why did you make him so uncomfortable? And why the hell did you manage to ruin every single interaction you had with him?

Little did you know, Spencer now stood in the precinct bathroom, asking himself the same question as he stared in the mirror. What was it about you that made him fumble every single time? Why couldn’t he just act like a normal human for once?

When he left the bathroom, he walked by you briskly. You sat with your head in your hands, completely ignorant of the glance he sent your way, a glance full of equal parts dejection and confusion.

One Friday, you strolled into the bullpen, coffee in hand and a pep in your step. It had been a generally good week, and you were excited for the night out that the team had planned for later that day. Nothing quite like a margarita night to put one in a great mood.

You stopped in your tracks as you approached your desk, noticing Spencer at his beside you. His eyes caught yours and both of your mouths dropped ever so slightly. You were wearing the same purple cardigan. Not kind of the same, not a little similar. The _exact_ same. Cool. Excellent. No big deal.

You set your coffee down, sparing a quick nod at Spencer and Derek before turning around and running to the bathroom. You pulled off the cardigan, shoving it unceremoniously into your bag. If Spencer hated you as much as you thought he did, you couldn’t even imagine what he had thought when he had seen you wearing it. Leave it to you to own the same sweater as the one person who couldn’t stand you- the one person you were somehow still stupidly infatuated with.

Spencer’s eyes followed you as you walked back to your desk. He noted the obvious missing sweater, his face burning red. You clearly despised him if you were embarrassed to even wear the same piece of clothing as him.

The day seemed to drag by, all of you consumed by the piles of paperwork that had overtaken your desks during your weeks away on cases. You had never been more convinced that a margarita held the key to your happiness.

The night out came none too soon, all of you heading to the bar after packing up your things. You found yourself in between Emily and Penelope, sighing as you downed your first drink. They raised their eyebrows at you when you immediately ordered another, but didn’t say a word.

As the night wore on, the team had scattered throughout the bar. You, Emily, and Penelope remained planted at the table, in charge of watching everyone’s belongings. Hotch and Rossi were playing darts, JJ had left to go home to Henry, and Derek and Spencer were god knows where.

You were drunk- maybe a little too drunk. You had lost count of how many margaritas you had had. Whatever. Nights out like these were rare, and with all that you dealt with every day, you figured you deserved it.

Penelope had finished recounting the last date she had gone on- it had ended pretty poorly, but at least it was a great story. The three of you laughed wildly at it, imagining the poor sucker’s face as she told him off.

“You think that’s bad?” you snorted. “The guy I’m in love with- he has no idea I exist. Actually- wait, no. He knows I exist, but he hates me.”

Penelope and Emily’s eyes widened, glancing at one another. You had never openly talked about your personal life, much less someone you were interested in.

“Do continue,” Emily urged, eager to hear the details.

You sighed dramatically before taking another sip of your drink. “It’s just- I don’t know! I don’t know what I did! And I don’t know how to fix it. He can’t even be in the same room with me. How fucking pathetic is that? How can I be in love with someone who can’t stand me?”

Penelope wrapped her arm around you, laying her head on your shoulder. “I’m sure that’s not true. Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” you huffed. “I can’t talk to him. What do I say? ‘Sorry, I’m in love with you even though you hate me’?”

The girls offered their drunken advice, but their words flowed in one ear and out the other. There was no use. It was hopeless. Eventually your conversation turned to happier topics, the three of you laughing and joking about office drama and the latest stupid reality television episode you had managed to catch.

The following morning, you woke up with a pounding headache, your eyes dry as you blindly grabbed for your water. You weren’t as young as you used to be. You had just rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, when your phone rang. Of fucking course.

“Y/L/N,” you groaned, dragging your hand across your face.

“We have a case. Sorry,” came the succinct response on the other end. You were convinced Hotch was a robot. There was no way he wasn’t at least a little hungover after last night and yet he sounded exactly the same as every other day.

You made your way to the office as quickly as you could, pulling on your purple cardigan in your haste. You had a fleeting thought of taking it off, but you couldn’t help it. You loved this stupid sweater. Spencer wouldn’t wear it again so soon after the last time. At least you told yourself that he probably wouldn’t. You pushed the thought out of your mind as best you could, desperately trying to shift your brain into work mode.

Blissfully, the case was wrapped up in less than thirty-six hours. Your hangover was long gone, replaced by the exhaustion of going non-stop for a day and half. The majority of the team felt the same, slumped in various positions as they slept. You found yourself curled up in a seat on the jet home, staring out the window with the same purple sweater wrapped around your shoulders.

There was the vaguest sensation of someone hovering beside you, and you snapped out of your reverie to turn towards them. Spencer stood there, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. “Can I sit?”

You almost didn’t respond, you were so taken aback by his question. Why would he want to sit next to you? He could barely be in the same room with you during work hours, much less in an enclosed space with you after a case. You nodded mutely, feeling that familiar blush spreading across your cheeks.

He sank into the seat, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his cardigan. He looked uncomfortable, and you wondered once again why he wanted to sit beside you.

“That sweater looks nice on you.” He spoke quietly, barely above a whisper. You would have thought you had imagined it if you didn’t see his mouth moving.

You huffed out an airy laugh. “Thanks.”

There was silence after that, and you turned back to gazing out the window. You sat lost in your thoughts, acutely aware of Spencer’s presence beside you. You had imagined this a million different times, a million different ways. The only difference was that in your daydreams, he wanted to be there. He wanted to be with you. Ridiculous.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly at the thought. You could not cry. You _would_ not cry in front of him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.”

This time you were utterly convinced that you had imagined the words coming out of Spencer’s mouth. You blinked at him, a heavy pause before you were able to say anything. “What?”

“I heard you at- at the bar. Whoever he is, he would have to be an idiot if he doesn’t feel the same way. I know you can’t see how terribly he’s treating you because you love him but-”

“Why do you care who I date?” You cut him off abruptly, completely bewildered by this sudden outpouring of advice. Since when did he care about anything you did? Since when did he care about you at all?

Spencer stared at his hands as they gripped the book in his lap. He opened his mouth to respond, but he seemed to reconsider his words, closing it again.

“Spencer, _why_?”

He turned ever so slightly towards you, eyes darting to your face before looking away. “If you don’t know that I’m in love with you by now, I don’t know what to tell you.”

You could almost feel your jaw drop to the floor of the jet as you struggled to process the words he had just spoken. Spencer took your silence as rejection, turning to stand. He stopped when your hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back into his seat.

“It’s you, you jerk.”

Now it was Spencer’s turn to blink wildly at you. “What?”

“The man I’m in love with who hates me- it’s you,” you whispered, your hand still on him.

“I don’t- I don’t hate you. I thought you hated me. I’m weird and I’m awkward and you make me so, so nervous-”

You put a finger to his lips, stopping his rambling in his tracks. “Spencer, the first day we met, I quite literally tripped over your feet and face-planted in the middle of the bullpen. I think we’re even on the whole ‘awkward’ thing.”

He blushed at that, recalling that very first day. He had felt so incredibly terrible for making you fall, and then he had floundered his apology so pathetically. That was when it had all started.

“Can we, um- can we go out when we get home? Like on a date, maybe?” Spencer’s hand met yours tentatively, lacing your fingers together. You both stared at one another with shy smiles on your faces.

“Only if you swear that you can handle being in the same room as me.”

“I swear.”

You let out a quiet laugh at his promise, daring to lean your head down onto his shoulder. This entire turn of events had completely thrown you for a loop. This was the last thing that you ever expected to hear from Spencer Reid. How had it turned out that the two of you had felt the same way the entire time, both just held back by your own perceived embarrassment?

You were both so lost in the tenderness of this unexpected moment that you missed the knowing look that Emily and Hotch shared across the jet. Fucking finally.


End file.
